


incremental

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, In line with canon, M/M, Slow Build, spoilers for chapter 206
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hinata Shoyou spends a year considering such nebulous topics as fate and Kozume Kenma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	incremental

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with this fic for two weeks and then I read ch 206 and it practically wrote itself after that. Mostly in line with canon, with some future speculation.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Hinata has a generally faultless memory when it comes to the things that inspire him: dark hair and a form arcing upwards, the number 10 ruffling mid-flight; Natsu’s fingers curled around his thumb the first time they met; the other side of the court, flooded with sunlight.

Red tracksuit and golden eyes and the words _Until next time, Shoyou._

His heart kicks up at the remembrance, never mind that it was nothing more than a moment of happenstance. Hinata can tell _something_ is coming anyways--from the curl of anticipation at his spine, from the wind insistent at his hair, from the gut-certain feeling that a domino effect had begun without his realizing the pieces had been set up.

Hinata doesn’t have a word for it. Maybe one doesn’t exist. All Hinata can think, as his heart makes itself apparent in his chest, is an answering echo: _until next time, until next time, until next time._

 

Kenma calls him Shoyou and it sounds familiar on his tongue, the most natural sound in the world, so Hinata isn’t sure what’s not being understood when he asks for Kenma’s number.

“My phone number,” Kenma repeats. They’re in between sets, and the sun turns the shadows of their teammates a burnt orange as they guzzle water and towel their faces. The next set will probably be the last one, which Hinata finds unfair because there’s still much to learn from Nekoma--from Kenma.

“Yeah!” Hinata says. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, impatient and expectant. It already feels like it’s been too long since he asked, too long since they’ve met and reunited at this unexpected battleground.

From across the gym, Kenma’s friend with the terrible hair says _Kenma, stop fraternizing with the enemy_ but he’s smiling as he speaks. Kenma throws him a dirty look, his nose scrunched with irritation.

Hinata laughs at the expression, surprised that something so venomous could live on such an apathetic face.

Kenma’s gaze cuts back to him, suddenly level.

Hinata stops laughing. He feels like he’s been placed on an observation deck. He doesn’t know what Kenma’s supposed to be looking for, so Hinata meets the gaze head on, unblinking.

Just as suddenly, Kenma’s gaze drops again, chin tucked towards his chest. He becomes unassuming once more, but Hinata isn’t fooled by the curtain of hair or the anxious shoulders. For just a moment, something _sharp_ was living in Kenma’s gaze.

Hinata, curious, wants to see it again.

“Okay,” Kenma says.

It takes a moment for the words the sink in, and then Hinata jolts, grinning, grinning, grinning--

“ _Awesome_ ,” he says. His phone is slippery in his hands as he leans forward, says, “Okay, wait, here let me--”

 

At the tail-end of July, when Hinata’s stopped trying to match Lev’s seed-spitting and has instead taken to letting the grass bite into his bare arms and legs, he stretches his hand into the air like he’s grabbing the clouds and says, “Kenma, are you excited yet?”

Kenma is quiet for a long time. “No,” he says, unhurried.

Hinata has a nebulous thought forming, about red tracksuits acting as red threads, about fated rivalries and destinies, about the distance between a _hello_ and a _see you again_ and how small that distance seems when Kenma is the person on the other end.

“You will be, soon,” Hinata says, firmly. He sits up, to give Kenma his full attention. After this, the next time they’ll see each other again is if both their teams advance to Nationals, and Hinata’s gut clenches uncomfortably at the thought of that chance turning to smoke. “I promised, remember?”

And Kenma smiles at his knees. “I remember.”

 

There are things Hinata knows, and then there are things Hinata _knows_ , can trust in like breathing; when his phone buzzes against the kitchen table a few minutes after he’s gotten home from practice, Hinata _knows_ that it’s Kenma texting him.

Talking with Kenma is a little bit of an excavation, one in which Hinata has gotten better at over the weeks--each conversation is something new to discover, something that does the opposite of sating his curiosity.

Once, in a lull between their extra practices at Hinata’s home on the weekend, Kageyama had asked: “Are you talking with Nekoma’s setter again?”

And because they’d had this conversation before, Hinata immediately replied: “I’m not gonna ask him your dumb setter questions!”

They’d tussled, briefly, and then Kageyama had asked, traces of irritation in his tone: “So what do you talk to him about?”

Hinata had opened his mouth to answer, only to be surprised by the realization that he couldn't find a one word answer. Their conversations had been based in volleyball, in Hinata’s bullheaded determination to incite a reaction from Kenma, and had barreled outwards from there--to video games, to teammates, to the shared misery in the preferred dramas of their respective mothers, to sleeplessness, to pictures of sunsets, to rehashings of childhood stories, to--

_Everything,_ Hinata would answer now-- _anything I can think of._

He reads the message while he eats, typing out a reply with one hand and trying to balance his homework with the other.

“Shoyou,” his mother says disapprovingly. When Hinata looks over at her, the melon bread in his mouth hovers dangerously. “Who are you talking to?”

Hinata’s answer is muffled, but his mom must discern the answer anyways because she shakes her head and says _honestly_ the way she always does when Hinata mentions Kenma. She says it the way she might say _Shoyou_ when he’s playing his DS while walking around the house in socks. Like she’s warning him _watch out, you might fall_ , but knows that Hinata isn’t going to listen to her.

Hinata’s always had pretty good reflexes, so he’s never seen reason to, honestly.

And anyways, he thinks, Kenma wouldn’t let him fall.

“Finish up before dinner,” she says, already heading down the hall, “and don’t ruin your appetite before then!”

Hinata salutes with one hand even though she can’t see him anymore, and presses send with the other. The melon bread loses its fight against gravity and falls into Hinata’s lap, a perfect imprint of his teeth in the soft bread.

And when his phone buzzes again, Hinata reaches for it immediately.

 

Hinata’s in the middle of a shopping trip with his mom and Natsu when his sister jerks suddenly, her hand already halfway out of Hinata’s grip. “Nii-san, look--!”

“Uwah, Natsu--” Hinata starts, awkwardly twisting to follow her without losing his grip, and then stopping when he catches what she’s looking at, the fingers of her free hand smudging the storefront window. There’s a small display of _furoshiki_ , the wrappings tastefully laid out under bento boxes with a sign that says _“Durable! Colors won’t fade!”_

His eyes skip over the colors and patterns, land decisively on a soft yellow wrap with repeating cat heads on display towards the back.

“Ah!” he says, because his first thought is of bleached hair and a red jersey, and that’s a little bit embarrassing.

“Ah!” Natsu echoes, more drawn out and excited. By her demand, they go into the store, and by their combined efforts of convincing their mom, they walk out with a new _furoshiki_ each.

He snaps a picture of it the moment he gets home; the pattern is barely discernable from the blurriness, but he attaches it to a text to Kenma anyways.

**It reminds me of you!!!!** spreads across Hinata’s screen, his finger pressing send before he can think. The embarrassment of this declaration doesn’t settle in until well after the text has been sent.

Hinata stills, head tilted as he regards his text. He wonders if this is maybe kind of weird.

The idea of oversharing rarely occurs to Hinata. But now, Hinata wonders if there are maybe things you aren’t supposed to say--like telling a friend several hours away that you bought a bento wrap because it reminded you of him.

Kenma’s response is slow, which isn’t unusual--sometimes whole hours will go by before Kenma responds to something.

But in light of Hinata’s recent text, Kenma’s response time makes him anxious. He puts his phone down, then picks it back up, then chucks it onto his bed to avoid rereading his message for no good reason at all.

All the while, he fiddles with the wrap, faintly embarrassed at himself but otherwise not ashamed at owning it. He _likes_ it. It's--

His phone buzzes. Hinata pitches himself nearly backwards to grab it off of his sheets.

**Because of the cats?** Kenma asks, and for some reason Hinata is disappointed in the question.

**No!!** he starts to write, then has to figure out how to finish the message. Or _is_ it because of the cats? Or maybe because it’s yellow, like Kenma’s hair? Because it’s cute, like--

Heat runs from the center of Hinata’s chest and makes a home high in his ears and cheeks. He presses backspace and holds his finger there until the words are gone, until his heart rate returns to normal, until his mind has stopped chanting the end to a thought he hasn’t fully completed.

**Yeah** , he types out instead, **bc of the cats!!!**

 

Hinata has been hanging onto Kenma’s updates about the qualifiers for Nationals with a twisted-gut sort of anxiousness. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in them, because he does--Hinata just needs the confirmation of his belief. When Natsu tells him his phone is ringing, Hinata skids out of the bathroom, heart pumping wildly.

Kenma is concise and to the point: **We’re headed to Nationals.**

Hinata stares at the words, something too big for words prickling at his spine and chest--it bends his knees and tickles at his nerve-endings until it finally comes out as a delighted yell.

“I’m gonna go on a run!” he shouts as he crashes through his living room, shoes a haphazard necessity on his feet. Faintly, he hears his mom hollering after him, but he’s already out the door and running, running, running.

He’ll answer Kenma later. For now, Hinata wills the unrest in his chest into his legs and arms, exhilarated at the idea of facing Nekoma on the Nationals stage, of playing a game so fierce and close that at the end, regardless of who wins, Kenma will have to look Hinata in the eye and say that he enjoyed the match.

Hinata doesn’t think about the improbability of facing Nekoma at Nationals because it has to happen--dominoes, he thinks again, had been stacked when they met. Hinata doesn’t want to deal in uncertainties and so he won’t.

Instead, Hinata comes to a skidding stop at the crest of the nearest hill, his heart hammering, his legs burning, his smile stinging. He shouts it loud enough for even his farthest away neighbors to hear, for even a certain setter at the edges of Tokyo to hear, if his head is angled towards the sound: “We’re gonna beat Nekoma at Nationals!”

And Hinata heads back home with a leap.

 

Nekoma is already there when Karasuno arrives at the stadium, breaths fogging in the chilly air. The teams greet each other briefly before parting to claim respective sections of the bleachers and get warmed up.

The stadium may be new to them, but there’s a routine to getting inside that makes it almost familiar--if Hinata discounts the vastness of this stadium, the number of people walking and talking and watching, the fact that once upon a time, a little giant flew along these very courts.

“Oi,” Kageyama says from next to him. He’s filing his nails, managing to not look as angry as usual. “You’re not gonna vomit, are you?”

Hinata starts, then turns to glare at him. “I’m fine!”

And then, in the corner of his eye, there’s a slouch of red.

“Kenma!” Hinata calls, jumping up. Most of Nekoma was still on the court, voices lost to the din of the stadium. “What’re you doing?”

Kenma nods at the water bottles at his side. “I told Inuoka that I’d fill these so he could finish warming up.”

“I’ll go with you!” Hinata says immediately. “I’ll just--hold on!”

He hurries towards Yachi and Kiyoko, asks for the water bottles and bounces on his heels while Yachi gathers them.

“That’s Kozume-san, isn’t it?” Yachi asks, handing the bottles to Hinata, who grins.

“Yup!” Hinata takes the holder with one hand and gestures with the other. “We’re gonna beat them and win Nationals!”

Yachi nods, very sagely. “I know,” she says, and then breaks out into a grin. “Don’t take too long or Sawamura-san will get mad!”

Out here, the noise from the gym is far away, a gentle rumble at their backs through the open doorway. There’s a line for the water fountain, and Hinata stands next to Kenma as they wait for the trio in front of them to finish filling their water bottles. Excitement prickles and sparks at Hinata’s fingertips, making him fidgety.

“I’m really excited,” Hinata says, unprompted. Kenma looks over, then looks away with an ungainly snort.

“I see,” he says. Then, “You’re jumping like a toddler, Shoyou.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Hinata says, but there’s no malice behind the words and Kenma’s eyes flick towards and away from him, amused.

“This place is so big,” Hinata continues, bumping the case of empty water bottles against his leg. “And the little giant was here--and now _we’re_ here, both of us! _The battle of the trash heap, you know?_ And when we win--”

Kenma makes a small noise, one that makes Hinata stop mid-sentence. It is, almost, a noise of disbelief. It might, if Hinata allows himself to be hopeful, be a noise of _challenge._

The trio disappears, talking amongst themselves, and Kenma wordlessly steps up to the fountain, unscrewing one of the caps. The water hits the bottom of the bottle loudly, then quiets as it fills up.

Hinata’s head tips to the side, hyperfocused on the boy in front of him. “Are you excited yet, Kenma?”

Kenma makes another small sound, his eyes flicking towards Hinata; his gaze has always been a hummingbird’s flutter to catch, but this time it lingers.

Hinata’s heart kicks up; muscle memory, when faced with Kenma like this. He forgets, sometimes, that Kenma can look anything but apathetic--that Kenma can look fierce, every carefully hidden motivation shimmering at the surface of his eyes for the briefest, overwhelming moment.

The tiny smile on his lips reminds Hinata of the very first time they met, right down to the slight shiver at his back-- _still, lately, I think we’re strong._ Like there’s nothing except for the two of them and the sound of Kenma’s voice between them:

“I guess.”

Kenma pulls one bottle from the stream of water, securing the lid before switching to another one.

Hinata stares. He wants--he wants to _say_ something, to match the challenge in Kenma’s gaze, but for once Hinata isn’t sure what to say. Something about the moment makes Hinata unsure; something about being located at the cusp of possibilities, and word _fated_ , and the way Kenma is still faintly smiling as he waits for the bottle to fill.

“You know, Kenma,” Hinata starts, only half aware he’s talking, “I think it was like, really, really lucky meeting you that day.”

Kenma doesn’t answer, but tilts his head towards Hinata, just enough to let Hinata know he’s listening. The movement makes his bangs shift, and Hinata’s fingers twitch. He’s overcome with the bizarre urge to fix it, to push the strand back behind Kenma’s ear. To feel the difference between the bleached bits and the natural hair.

“‘Cause it feels like we had to meet then, you know?” Hinata continues, curling the fingers of his free hand into his palm. “Before we meet as rivals. Before we saw each other play.”

Kenma keeps listening, head still unremarkably tilted. His eyes are trained on the water fountain, but flit briefly towards Hinata’s face.

“I think it made it better, when we meet again. Like it mattered. You weren’t just their setter--you were _Kenma._ ”

Hinata’s exhausted his words, but he’s not entirely sure he’s said what he meant to--he’s absorbed in watching Kenma watch him, in the sound his heart makes against his ribs.

“Yeah,” Kenma says finally, right when Hinata’s forgotten that he said anything at all. Hinata’s eyes refocus on Kenma’s golden ones.

Kenma smiles, the one where it’s mostly eyes instead of mouth. Hinata doesn’t know how to do that, but he thinks if he spends enough time watching Kenma, he might learn.

He wants to learn.

“I think I’m lucky, too,” Kenma continues. He speaks slowly, deliberately. “You’re really something, Shoyou.”

Hinata steps forward, bumping their shoulders together lightly. His chest is overwarm, elation making him feel airy and high, and when Kenma lets their shoulders rest together, Hinata lets out a bright laugh. Kenma doesn’t even jump.

“You’re amazing, too, Kenma,” Hinata says, tilting his head to look at Kenma through the curtain of hair. Kenma lets him, and Hinata gives him a dazzling grin. “I’ll miss you, when we have to go again.”

Kenma’s smile is a tiny, contained thing, but Hinata’s heart goes ahead and leaps anyways. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

Hinata nods, then steps back. He holds out his hand, pinky outstretched. “Promise?” he asks, head tilted.

Kenma’s pinky curls around his firmly and stays there. “Promise.”

Hinata’s chest echoes a familiar tune, another inherent truth in the world that is him and Kenma: _until next time, until next time, until--_

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: until about three days ago this fic was just called bento box.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think :>


End file.
